The Butcher
by Epicosity39
Summary: A Jack the Ripper Allegory...That's basically it.


**An allegory of Jack the Ripper that I wrote for my English class. Enjoy!**

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The dark streets of London are deserted and absent of any life. Well, except for one. But no one knows if he is truly alive. He is a man of fables and myths, a man who is so sinister that he doesn't seem to exist. A man erased from reality. A man, only know as, the butcher.

A small meat shop settles in the very back alleys of the bad part of London. Windows dark and unable to see through, an open sign that never changes, and a stillness that disturbs the most fearless of hearts is mostly what describes it. The lights inside are dim, enough to see down to the counter but dark enough to make out little to no details. The outer side and the interior are both colored a sickly white with many different cracks running up and down the walls and floors. A strong stench of bleach seems to always be present, like it's the stores own unique shadow. It's quiet. Always quiet. Except, when the new slaughter arrive.

Once every few years, the light tapping of hoofs on concrete can be heard through the dead quiet of night. By now, even the youngest of villagers know what that noise means and by the sounds of the choking squeals they're thoughts are only confirmed. That's when you know the butcher's new order has arrived. Pigs, only the pigs are what he orders, dirty, filthy creatures.

Even though they can hear their cries for help and always say that they would get them out next time, none of the villagers have ever once tried to save them. All of them to scared that they'll be next. When the butcher starts his killing spree, he doesn't keep the pigs alive for long. For a few moments he lets them quake in fear, giving them that last dispirit hope that they'll get away. But it's always short lived.

Once the moment has gone and passed he takes one of his many knives and slices the pig's throat open, its life dwindling quickly. Next, he would very carefully slice down their stomachs, removing curtain organs that perked his interest. After he was done with the animals their bodies would be almost unrecognizable and the heavy stench of blood is to the point of nausea. With night slowly turning into early morning, he picks up the body of the dead pig and dumps it in a nearby street.

Now you may be wondering, how the town thought it was the same man that did these crimes? Well, the butcher always had this favorite spot of his. It was only a few fifty steps away from Main Street but tucked into a little alley way where old, disgusting trash cans laid forgotten. The few people who ever went down this small pathway were either drunk, being mugged, or they were random homeless men. This small area only had one official name, 89th street.

Couldn't the police just arrest the man, may be your next question, but the idea itself is hopeless. You see, no one has ever laid eyes on the butcher. Some go to such extremes as to say he has no face, only shadows occupy the space and his crazed smile is the only thing seen. Some say it shines as bright as the moon right before it turns blood red. Others say it glows with the souls of his restless victims, groaning and weeping in despair.

For years this shall last. At the awakening of nightfall all the villagers cower in their homes, not knowing when the butcher will strike next. Only just to forget after a passage of time and end up being the next on his list. Eleven years it lasted and in eleven years it ended. The streets stayed quiet. No more screaming. No more corpses. Just a quiet town was left.

To this day the butcher has never been found. No one ever found out his identity in the century and a half since his existence. Some still hear rumors that he is still alive. His shop, to this day, lies alone and forgotten. Layer after layer of dust and an unseen dripping noise is the only thing left inside. The victims are old news and no one cares to hide anymore. The legend of the butcher is just whispers in the wind now, easily ignored by the new generations of villagers.

But how can the butcher just disappear like that, you may say. Well, that's just how it happened. Nobody knows where he went, what happened to him, or why he stopped killing. Some questions in life we just can't answer. But if you wish to seek the butcher, by all means go and search him out. If you do find him though, don't expect to come back alive.


End file.
